Half the pack

I didn’t throw the cigarettes away, but I did hide them. Sarah couldn’t have gotten to them, I’m certain, and Brendan is very health-conscious for his age. I know he’s developing that rebellious streak, all to impress this girl Jill (it is Jill, I found out) but I’m sure he wouldn’t take them.

But more than half the pack is gone, and I don’t remember smoking them. Gordon has never smoked a day in his life. He hasn’t even had a drink since graduating college.

Maybe I’m smoking them just so he can yell at me when he tastes them on my breath. Maybe I’d like to see some passion in him for once, like when we were teenagers. I miss those days.

Did I write that? I’m sure that I didn’t. I can’t be smoking those cigarettes, either, the first one made me ill. I’m smoking one right now.

I I have a cigarette in my mouth. It wasn’t there a moment ago.

Am I going crazy? This isn’t mine. This isn’t me. I wasn’t writing those things, I don’t understand what’s going on.

I’m going to go put out this cigarette and get some air. I’m feeling a little dizzy.

I do not think it

Waking up every night, sleeping late, and these horrible wonderful dreams have all left me so stressed that I did something fun for once foolish. I knew I should have thrown away those cigarettes when I had half a mind to

I didn’t write ‘wonderful’. They’re nightmares. I can’t sleep, I keep seeing that man’s face as he died. I don’t write some of these things, STOP DOING THAT.

It isn’t me, I swear, it isn’t me. It wasn’t fun, I nearly coughed up a lung, and felt terrible and sick all day afterwards. Sarah noticed the smell clinging to me when the kids got home, but she didn’t say anything. I could tell, though, she was looking at me with so much disgust, and...well, curiosity. I don’t want to inspire any bad behavior.

What if she starts emulating me? It’d probably be better if she just killed herself instead and saved me the heartache of watching her wither and die. It would be just like her to ignore everything I do, except for that.

No I didn’t write that. I didn’t, I swear. I would never say that about my own child. I only think it.

I DO NOT THINK IT.

What’s happening to me? This isn’t me.

Everything is fine

I’ve spent the last few days in a haze. I can’t seem to stop replaying what happened in my head, and every time, it makes my stomach twist and turn. It feels like it’s always in knots, now. It’s not as though I’m keeping it a secret, I just haven’t found a good time or reason to speak to Gordon about it. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure I don’t want to tell him.

A part of me is almost hoping I won’t have to. I didn’t write that last sentence, on that paragraph...

I’m not sure what to think. I’m getting these strange dizzy spells where I feel almost feverish, I’m losing track of time. Shouldn’t someone have noticed by now? Or is this just becoming my regular behavior? Maybe Gordon has noticed me getting up in the night. I’m so boring he was bound to notice eventually when I wasn’t sitting around, being his good little slave. He might just think this is normal, now.

I must have written that. I did. Everything’s fine.

I just feel so good about myself lately. What is going on? I feel free to do whatever I want. This isn’t me. I’m not writing that. Is this a hacking? How are you writing this?

Stop thinking about it and enjoy the ride.
: )

Shaken up

Oh mny god, I I’m not really sure how to begin. I’m shaken up, and its late. I feel like I shouldn wake someone up and tell them what’s happened to me, but I’d feel like an idiot. Oh god that was just the the most horrible thing I’ve ever experienced.

About two hours ago I was awake and wandering aroud the house, I couldn’t sleep, and I thought maybe I would warm some milk and browse on the computer since that’s what I’ve been doing the past few days, but I noticed wer were completely out of milk. Thankfully the store is open 24 hours, and I know Satrah always has cereal in the morning, so I thought I may as well go out to get some. I took some of the change Gordon keeps in a jar, for emergencies, and went out.

I went in, bought the milk, and after I left and was walking home, I ntocied a man slumping against the wall of a closing-down video store. I thought he was homeless and intending to break in, at first, and I felt sorry for him so I wasn’t going to call any attention to it. I tried to slink by but he reached out towards me, and it sounded like he was in so much pain. I was concerned, I stopped and asked if he was alright. He wasn’t bvery comprehensible, I got closer, and he gripped my arm so tight. He was burning up, I think from a fever, and his face. He looked almost like a leper, he was in such a horrible state.

I think he croaked something like ‘It’s yours now’ and then slumped against me – I screamed, I didn’t know what to think, dropped the milk. I managed to push him off, but when he hit the wall I realized he must have had a heart attack. I ran back to the store and had them call an ambulance, and was forced to wait while they came and collected him. They asked me questiions about whether or not I knew him, what his condition was, how I felt. I felt horrible chills, and sick to my stomach, but I didn’t tell them that – I knew it wasn’t because I was sick, it was because I’d just watched a man die.

I haven’t been able to stop crying, I I don’t know what to do.

I don’t think I can tell Gordon. He wouldn’t understand. And of course I don’t want to tell the kids.

I feel so alone right now.

Cheap cigarettes

I changed the name of this blog for two reasons: One, I think it will be more difficult to find, if Gordon ever manages to wrestle himself off that little TA of his long enough to look into my online life, and two, I think it rather accurately represents how I’m feeling, these days.

I’ve started taking little walks to the store, every so often. It’s not much, but it’s a tiny step, a positive step, I think. I try to go through the same cashier’s lane every time, hoping to strike up a conversation, but I never manage to. Sometimes I muster a shaky smile, and embarrassingly, that’s as far as I get.

Already, of course, my excursions have led to disaster. I missed a call yesterday from Gordon as he was trying to tell me that he’d be home in time for dinner. I only made enough for three, and we got into a bit of an argument over it. I wound up reheating some pasta for myself, and I didn’t make it any secret that I was angry with him. He avoided me for the rest of the night, and I couldn’t tell you whether that made things better or worse.

Afterwards, I went out and did the most impulsive thing in my life so far – I went out for a walk to the store again, and bought a pack of cigarettes. I’ve never smoked in my life, and when I asked what brands they had, they listed so many it made my head spin. I wound up choosing something cheap, and smuggled them home as though I was embarrassed to be seen holding them.

Honestly, I am, a little. I don’t think I’ll ever smoke them, but part of me wants to. It would give me a reason to step outside for fresh air, once in a while. Although, if I were a smoker, I suppose that air wouldn’t be so fresh.

I should probably go throw them out. What a silly waste of money.

I’m glad going to buy them gave me something to do, though.

Is this my life?

I’m just not used to people being home, I think. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, it seems. When Gordon is out with the car and the kids are off at school, or at a friend’s house, or at lessons or sports, I feel as though I can’t leave the house. I don’t have a cell phone, only the landline – what if there was an emergency? I’d feel terrible if I missed an urgent call, or if Gordon was trying to reach me during the day. It’s so sporadic that I never know for certain how his days go.

Then, when everyone’s home and there’s bustle and bickering, I feel as though I can’t leave. Mom has to settle the disputes and tidy up after everyone. I need to be around for all the off-chances, like tonight. Finally, Gordon has a night in which he isn’t exhausted and we have a little time to ourselves, and I don’t feel any better about it. If anything, I feel a little like a dog that’s been thrown a bone, if you’ll pardon the euphemism.

I’ve just been lying awake in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, trying to find patterns in the stucco shadows. In the dark, it all becomes grey on grey, and I thought I might just hypnotize myself into falling asleep, trying to follow the patterns that weren’t really there. Finally, I realized it wasn’t making me tired…just nauseated.

I snuck out of bed as quietly as I was able, peeked in on Brendan and Sarah. It’s been five years since we moved in so that they could have their own separate rooms, but I still have trouble remembering which room is which. Maybe part of me is clinging to how things used to be when they were very little and sharing a bedroom. I still expect to see them both, when I look into one of their rooms.

The only quiet activity I could think to do was to browse the web. I don’t want to wake anyone…but in a strange way, I almost do. I’d like to scream and create a ruckus just to break the stillness. Am I horrible, that I’m selfish enough to want the entire world to be awake with me?

At the same time, I just want to be alone. Maybe it’s just that I’m craving different company, but I can’t have it. Aside from the occasional parent-teacher conference (which I attend with Gordon, anyway) I hardly speak to other adults.

I need to be social. I’ve been stuck in this rut since the twins were born, and I’m just so tired all the time.

I need to be proactive. Create things for myself to do and break away. I can’t let this be the rest of my life, or…I don’t know what I’ll do.

A horrible mother

I never did wind up taking that walk, a few nights ago, but I did finally speak to Gordon about Brendan’s behavior. It is a girl – I didn’t catch her name, it may have been Julie or Jill or something like that – and he’s going to have a talk with him about it. I only hope he listens. He should, I think, the kids are fairly good about listening to their father.

It’s strange, but I find it almost sweet. Obviously, this girl is a terrible influence on him, but it’s nice that he’s so passionate about his crush. I can’t even remember that feeling, anymore, of being young and thinking that every love was the love of my life, doing silly things and regretting them later. Even the dumber things I did as a kid were still special.

I’m not sure whether or not Sarah has taken an interest in boys yet, but she’s about that age. I’m tempted to see if she has a diary in her room, even though I haven’t seen one in there before. Or maybe she has a blog? I think most kids do, nowadays.

I wouldn’t feel right searching for it, I don’t think. I don’t know whether or not I would be comfortable reading some of the things she would write, anyway. No doubt some would include her horrible, unfair mother.